


Last Whisper

by royalstandard



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalstandard/pseuds/royalstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oneshot inspired by scenes from 3x22</p>
    </blockquote>





	Last Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> oneshot inspired by scenes from 3x22

He spent every waking moment memorizing everything about her. He memorized the blond curls beside her ears, the way they hinted at red when the sunlight hit them just right. He wondered if the curl above her left ear tickled her skin as it brushed the top of her ear when she turned her head. 

He felt her heart beating in her back, gentle and steady and vibrant. He listened to it, how it pounded faster than an adult’s heart, and was more lively even though she was currently in his arms and not active. He’d long ago memorized that tiny heartbeat, which sounded like a wren chirping and jaunting compared to the lower, more resonant ravens which thumped in the chests of the others around him. He remembered the steady throbbing of her heartbeat from the very first moment he’d heard it, beating so fast it sounded like the steady rocking of a washing machine on an ocean’s shore, and his fingertips pressed into her back, careful not to hurt her, as he felt her pulse racing through her veins.

He listened as she breathed in, her tiny nostrils expanding as she crammed her fingers into her mouth and then shifted, putting the foot of her stuffed animal between her teeth and gnawing gently on it. He could hear her lungs expand when he stood quietly like this, her small body working, so alive. It made him feel more alive to just listen to her, his thousand year old body feeling its age in moments like this one.

Hours later, he sat with the sun pouring in behind him, his eyes wide as he watched her reposing in silence against the corner of her playpen. When she moved, he memorized the scrape of her blond hair against the mesh as if it was his favorite song, and his fingers waved like a fan, each fingertip touching his thigh one-by-one to add the percussion to her song. 

Then she was in her mother’s arms, no longer his to protect, and that was the most heartbreaking moment of all. He touched her back, felt her breaths and heard her heart, and he had to trust another to protect her better than he. His aged heart, so calloused and worn over the centuries, felt like an open sore as he gave his daughter to her mother for safe-keeping. He knew, in spite of his characteristically rampant paranoia, that the little wolf would take care of her, but giving away an ounce of his control filled him with a breathless listlessness like no other. He wouldn’t be the one to do it. He couldn’t be the one to do it, and that killed him more than anything ever had before.

His pen scratched the paper, filling out the thoughts of his mind and each etch searing into his soul. For the first time in so long, his body ached and the words he wrote were heavy upon him. He had to let her know. He would see her again; he lied about this to himself as an attempt to convince his psyche.   
Folding the paper meticulously, he slid it into the envelope and scrawled each precious letter to her name on its face. He knew he should hurry - his siblings didn’t have much time; he could hear Kol’s pained cries now - but this was the one thing he would do slowly. He would take his time with this, his fingers running down the spine of the envelope then tracing over the flap to adhere the adhesive to itself. Standing, he walked soundlessly into the other room, bending at the knee to slide the envelope into the outer pocket on the diaper bag. 

He would walk into hell for her. He would walk into hell for all of them.


End file.
